


The Bishop and The Knight

by purple_bookcover



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, oh yeah also there's chess for some reason, that's pretty much it, they fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23992039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_bookcover/pseuds/purple_bookcover
Summary: Hubert and Sylvain are the representatives for their respective sides of the war. They're supposed to broker an agreement between the two sides, but Hubert entices Sylvain with an offer he finds more appealing.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 13
Kudos: 108





	The Bishop and The Knight

**Author's Note:**

> Someone told me I could bully Sylvain, so I bullied Sylvain.

Hubert thought nothing of Sylvain Gautier: playboy, buffoon and all-around artless idiot. 

Until he challenged Hubert to a game of chess.

That first game, Hubert had nearly lost. A knight left to roam too long and too freely. A pawn creeping across the board unremarked. He’d caught it, eventually, and stomped it out. But only just.

Hubert ignored the cocky grin on Sylvain’s face, looking down instead to contemplate the chessboard. That first game had been long, long ago. Before the world changed. Before Edelgard’s grand plans had begun to be revealed. Hubert had believed his games with Sylvain had ended when Edelgard left the monastery, heading to Enbarr with everyone loyal to her to set her plots in motion. Of course, Hubert had followed. And in the intervening years, they’d done much to break the evil systems and hierarchies that bound Fodlan to archaic traditions. 

Hubert had had little time to think about old chess games in the past five years – waging war against the entrenched institutions of the church forestalled for such frivolities. 

He moved a pawn up a space before sitting back, crossing his arms under his chest. Sylvain’s grin sobered somewhat as he contemplated Hubert’s move. 

The years had stripped some of the boyishness and buffoonery from Sylvain, though only when he thought Hubert wasn’t looking. It was a shame. He was actually quite handsome when he wasn’t trying to be.

Sylvain looked up, catching Hubert’s eyes. That shit-eating grin was back and in full effect. “Your move, Hubie.”

Hubert ground his teeth, refusing to rise to the bait. Correction: To be handsome Sylvain also had to _not_ be speaking. Hubert knew ways of effecting that, but perhaps those were best left for another time.

Hubert examined the board. Sylvain’s move was a solid one. It left Hubert few options. He’d have to make some sort of sacrifice this turn; it was merely a question of containing the damage.

He tapped gloved fingertips together as he pondered the board. 

“Staring at it won’t save you,” Sylvain said.

Hubert glared up at him from under his eyebrows. “Won’t it? You’re the one sitting in enemy territory.”

Sylvain shrugged, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back like they were still kids at the Officers Academy, like there weren’t armed soldiers from their clashing armies waiting outside this room, weapons at the ready should the negotiations not remain peaceful. 

When Dimitri had proposed a meeting, Edelgard had been surprised, to say the least. Hubert was the obvious choice as her representative for the talks, both because of her trust in him and because of his lack of trust in anyone else. 

Still, while Hubert had prepared for a lot – poison, ambushes, betrayals of every sort – it had been a shock to arrive at the designated meeting spot and find Sylvain Gautier standing there, unarmed and unarmored, carrying a chess board tucked up under one arm.

“Game?” he’d said. When Hubert had hesitated, he added, “For old time’s sake.”

He’d agreed, for some reason. And thus he’d ended up here, contemplating pawns while Sylvain sighed with impatience. 

Finally, Hubert made his move, taking Sylvain’s roaming pawn, even at the cost of his own. Sylvain reacted instantly, barely giving Hubert a break before it was his turn again. 

“It’s going to be a boring game if you only do what I expect,” Sylvain said. He leaned forward, chin perched on his palm. “I was hoping for a little excitement.”

This time, Hubert couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. Flirting seemed compulsory with Sylvain. Hubert had never bothered taking it seriously. He had hoped, however, that the passage of five years and intrusion of a war might force some maturity on the dolt. 

“Do you not find this war sufficiently exciting, Gautier?”

“In some ways,” Sylvain said, “but it’s awfully cold up there in Faerghus. I think the chill has made some of my companions less than hospitable. I was hoping for a warmer welcome from you.”

Hubert moved his bishop. Sylvain’s eyelids flickered, the only sign that the move had genuinely surprised him until a broad smile seeped across his face. He bit at his bottom lip in his attempt to contain the only grin he hadn’t contrived all evening. Hubert wanted to smack him for that, wanted to tug on that lip himself. Gautier had always been restrained and controlled, performative. But Hubert was an expert at breaking wills, at drawing out truths, no matter how he had to get them. How sweet it would be to break Gautier, to snap his false smiles and drag something real out of him. 

Hubert didn’t realize he was lost in the fantasy until he heard a piece click on the board. Sylvain had him trapped, his king and queen backed into a precarious corner. 

“Bad news, Hubie,” Sylvain said. “Looks like I’ve got you.”

Hubert just smiled. He moved a pawn, unassuming, forgotten, and saw the blood drain from Sylvain’s face. “Ah, but what use is it to be trapped with a snake?” 

That twisted, strangled smile played at Sylvain’s mouth again, carefully reined in. He only had one move. They both knew it. He had to back away, send his king fleeing for the safety of a corner of the board he could control. 

Sylvain set a finger on his king, wobbling the piece but not committing to the move. 

“You don’t need to flee,” Hubert said. “You don’t actually have to run.”

“I’m trapped,” Sylvain said. “Where else will I go?” 

Hubert reached forward, taking Sylvain’s hand. Lambskin gloves glided along Sylvain’s skin and to his wrist. Sylvain’s lips fell open, just slightly, all his coy smiles evaporating. Even as he touched Sylvain, Hubert dropped a pawn hidden in two fingers onto the board, one of Sylvain’s own pawns, re-positioned now to protect his king from Hubert. 

Sylvain must have heard the piece hit the board. His eyes flickered down.

Hubert withdrew his hand from Sylvain’s wrist. “Nothing is required,” Hubert said. 

“But...” Sylvain’s voice was quieter now than Hubert had ever heard it.

“But they told you that you ‘must,’ that you ‘have to?’ Where are they now, all these people who would demand things of you? You are alone. Your king is backed into a corner, that’s why he sent you here, is it not? But you--” Hubert drew his pawn back, as well as the new one he’d added to the board “--are free.” 

Sylvain snorted at that, short and bitter. “Am I?” He drew his king away anyway, despite Hubert’s retreat. 

Still, Hubert positioned his pieces purely defensively. “If you wish to be.”

Sylvain frowned at him from across the table before picking up a piece and rolling it in one hand. “OK, so what if I do? What if I want...” His voice lowered to a rasp. “What if I’m done being cold all the time? What if … what if I do want to tear it all down? What happens then?”

For a moment, Hubert merely watched him. He was so, so close, only the barest trace of that ridiculous jester’s mask lingering on Sylvain’s face. Hubert would see it stripped away.

In one swift motion, he shoved the table aside. It clattered to the floor, chess board and pieces scattering across the room with a clamor. Before Sylvain could react, Hubert was on him, straddling his hips, sitting in his lap, gripping the collar of his shirt so he had to look up at Hubert. 

“Show me,” Hubert growled. 

He could see Sylvain’s throat bob as he swallowed. “Show you what?”

“Something real.”

He grabbed Sylvain’s hair with his free hand, tilting his head back as he smashed their mouths together. For all his cocky smiles and playful flirtations, Sylvain murmured in surprise against Hubert’s lips. Hubert did not relent, pressing his body closer, gripping Sylvain’s hair more tightly, smothering his ridiculous, noisy mouth. 

Sylvain’s hands slipped around Hubert at last, groping along his waist. Hubert could feel Sylvain getting hard beneath him. He ground his hips forward over Sylvain’s emerging erection and Sylvain whimpered into his mouth. 

They were both gasping when Hubert pulled away. Sylvain’s face and lips were nearly as rosy as his hair. 

“Fuck, that was--”

Hubert put a gloved finger to his lips. “No talking,” he said. “Show me.”

Sylvain looked like he wanted to talk more. Hubert would have to break him of that nasty habit. Either way, he contained it, at least for now. Sylvain’s hands slipped down, caressing over Hubert’s ass, hiking him closer. 

Hubert trailed lambskin down the side of Sylvain’s face. “Good.” 

Sylvain started to move beneath him, rutting at nothing, the poor, sad fool. Still, Hubert indulged him, rolling his hips in return, letting their bodies grind fecklessly together searching for friction. 

Sylvain’s hands lingered on Hubert’s ass. His eyes fluttered shut as his head tipped back and his breaths thinned to gasps. His hips were hiking Hubert higher and higher, cock straining against his pants. Hubert gripped his shoulders and ground down against him, drawing out a shuddering whine. Flames, just how cold was it in Dimitri’s wretched, frozen kingdom? 

Hubert pushed back abruptly, standing. Sylvain had only an instant to look surprised, then Hubert was on his knees before him, tugging Sylvain’s trousers down to his ankles. His cock sprang free, already dripping with pre-cum. 

Hubert trailed one finger along Sylvain’s length, watching his face as he did. Sylvain gnawed at his lip, his breath desperate huffs. It looked real, but who knew with Gautier? Hubert would require further proof. Just to be sure. 

“You are not to ruin my gloves,” Hubert said. “Do you understand?”

Sylvain nodded, apparently incapable of speech. Just as well.

“If you cum I will break your cock, is that clear?”

Sylvain whimpered at that, his whole body shuddering with arousal. 

Hubert took that for agreement. He curled his hand around Sylvain’s cock, running the soft leather up and down his shaft. Sylvain watched, still chewing on that bottom lip, at least until Hubert used his free hand to trace a finger along Sylvain’s sac. Then, his head tipped back, his hand going almost reflexively for Hubert’s hair. 

Sylvain tugged – once – then loosened his grip as though Hubert had slapped him away. 

“Go on,” Hubert said. “Pull all you like. You won’t hurt me.” Hubert gave Sylvain’s cock a squeeze to punctuate his point and Sylvain’s hand tightened in the dark waves of Hubert’s hair. 

Hubert smirked as his hand slid up and down Sylvain’s shaft, deliberate and taunting, smooth as the leather covering his skin. 

“Shit,” Sylvain hissed. “Shit, oh shit. Hubert, if you keep doing that--” 

Hubert stopped, squeezing just a little too tightly. Sylvain quivered. “Now, now. Don’t forget what I said, Gautier.” 

“ _Fuck_.” 

Hubert knew when he’d pushed an advantage just far enough. He released Sylvain’s cock. The man panted like he’d been running a race, his eyes tracing Hubert’s every move as the mage stood and started to disrobe without ceremony. 

Sylvain reached for him, but Hubert slapped his hand away. “Take off your clothes and turn around.”

Sylvain blinked. “OK.” 

He did as Hubert instructed, stripping the rest of the way and bracing against the chair. 

Hubert left him like that a moment, drawing it out, stepping close enough that Sylvain could feel the heat of his body, could long for it. He tossed aside his own clothing, keeping only his gloves, then let two fingers wander aimlessly over Sylvain’s bare ass, meandering without purpose or direction. Still, the touch of the lambskin gloves drew out shivers, like Hubert was replacing all the bluster of the north with heat. 

A crack snapped in the meeting room. Sylvain’s ass was instantly red where Hubert had smacked it.

“Gods, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Sylvain bit out. 

Hubert rubbed over the redness, his gloves a cool contrast to the heat of the slap. “Do you want me to fuck you, Gautier?”

“Yes.” It was a whimper, a plea. 

“Have you ever been fucked?” Hubert said. “I get the impression you’ve always been on the other side, always doing, always servicing, never being serviced in return. But you want to be taken care of, don’t you? You want to surrender to someone. Oh, how pitiful, that it should be me.”

Hubert didn’t wait for a response. The truth was plain. For all his bravado, all his flirts and jabs and carefully curated grins, Sylvain was exposed now, torn down to his barest elements, helpless. 

Hubert tugged off a glove with his teeth, throwing it aside. Then he trailed bare fingers along Sylvain’s rim, running them around the tight muscle. He felt Sylvain’s whole body tense. 

“Mm, that won’t do,” he said. “You’ll need to relax and let me in. Don’t worry, I have everything we’ll need.” 

He ducked down for just a moment, retrieving the oil stashed in a pocket of his discarded clothing. The next time Hubert touched Sylvain, it was with slick fingers. Sylvain gasped, but he wasn’t as tense now as Hubert prodded at him in careful circles. 

He was still putting up a front, still resisting and pretending. But slowly, ever so slowly, that fell away, unraveling bit by tense bit until Hubert could feel that Sylvain was relaxed and ready for him. 

He used only that one slick finger at first. The sound Sylvain made when it entered him was a thousand false laughs melting into sighs. For all his earlier tension, he relented almost as soon as Hubert started working that finger around, massaging at those yielding walls. Gods, how desperate the poor man was to give in. 

Hubert squeezed a second finger in, scissoring, stretching, testing these new boundaries. But Sylvain just kept giving and giving, relenting at every turn. His submission made Hubert’s cock quiver. He used his free hand to stroke himself while opening up Sylvain, but there was hardly any need – for the stroking or the opening. Sylvain was pushing back against Hubert’s hand, keening for more. And now it was Hubert biting his lip, holding back the groan that wanted to slip out as he watched Sylvain’s back curl so the man could roll his hips up against Hubert’s fingers. 

Hubert opened his clenched teeth just enough to bite down on his other glove. A huff escaped. He clamped down on the leather quickly, pulling it free. Then he eased his fingers out of Sylvain, much to the man’s apparent dismay. 

“It won’t do to go in unprepared,” Hubert said. Still, he hurried to slick up his cock, only partially for Sylvain’s benefit. 

He rubbed the head against Sylvain’s ass. The chair Sylvain gripped groaned in his grasp. 

Hubert leaned forward, holding Sylvain’s hips as he did. “Tell me you want it.” 

“Shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Fuck, I want it. I want it. Please.”

Hubert smiled before leaning away to angle his cock at Sylvain’s hole. There was a moment of resistance, of pressure, then Hubert nudged inside, just the head at first. The chair creaked from strain. Hubert pushed a little deeper, just a little, letting Sylvain adjust. 

Sylvain was panting for breath, his legs quivering even from just that bit. Hubert went just a touch deeper, pressing against something within Sylvain along the way. 

Sylvain was nearly weeping, if the high, broken cry he emitted then was anything to go by. 

Hubert rubbed his ass. “I’m not even all the way in,” he said. “My, how long you’ve waited.”

“S-so long,” Sylvain moaned. “So long.” 

“Mmm. Don’t worry. I’ll see to you now. We’ll tear down those cold stone walls you’ve lived in too long. We’ll shatter them to pebbles.”

Sylvain seemed incapable of speech, whimpering a response Hubert couldn’t understand. Hubert pulled back, swaying slowly into him. Sylvain arched, gasping. For a moment, Hubert feared it was too much and paused. Then Sylvain moaned, “More. Gods, more.”

Hubert was only too eager to abide. He retreated only to push back in, each time a little deeper and a little deeper, until his hips were smacking against Sylvain’s ass with each push. Sylvain started hitching to meet him, the chair clattering as he used it to brace. 

Hubert gripped his hips, bare fingers digging into Sylvain’s skin as he yanked him back with each thrust. He could hardly hear himself grunting under the cries and whines Sylvain was shouting with each jolting pound. 

“D-do it again,” Sylvain gasped. “Hit me.” 

Hubert felt a lurch in his gut at that, a delicious, dizzying lurch that made his whole body ache. He drew a hand back, snapping it against Sylvain’s ass in a quick, sharp slap. Sylvain nearly shrieked, throwing his head back. 

“Oh, gods.”

Hubert would need to fix this habit of calling out for gods, but that was a task for another day. For now, he pulled Sylvain against him, thrusting faster. Sylvain’s legs were quivering. One hand left the harried chair so he could stroke his own cock. He wouldn’t last much longer. 

Still, Hubert waited, letting the moment build, letting the tension return until they were both coiled so tightly they were poised to shatter like glass flung against the floor. 

Then, he drew his hand back, gave Sylvain’s reddened ass one last smack, harder than any of the ones before. 

Sylvain really did shriek this time, crying out incoherently. His body shook. His ass clenched. Cum spurted against the chair, even as the beleaguered furniture finally snapped in Sylvain’s grip. 

Hubert pulled out just in time to spend himself over Sylvain’s back, cum splattering across hot skin. 

They were both quivering now. As grunts and cries quieted to rasping breaths, they both sank trembling to the floor. Hubert managed to sit, but Sylvain made no such pretense, laying down right there on the ground with cum still sticky on his back and chest and thighs. 

Hubert let him lay there and breathe for a few moments. If nothing else, it allowed Hubert himself to settle his own breaths back to something cool and controlled. 

“I’ll fetch the guards,” Hubert said when he could. “Have them bring us water and something to clean up with.”

As he moved to do that, though, Sylvain grabbed his wrist, turning his face to look up at Hubert. “Not yet.”

Hubert raised an eyebrow. 

“I meant it,” Sylvain said. “I want to tear it down. All of it.” 

Hubert smiled, only half-mockingly. “I believe you.”

Sylvain pushed up to sitting. He was wrecked, face and ass rosy, cum on his skin, hair jutting out like a red pinwheel around his head. 

Hubert ran a finger along his jaw, stopping under his chin. Sylvain shivered. “I presume you’d like to continue this discussion, then?”

Sylvain smiled, wicked, cocky, charming – but real. “Yes,” he said. “Very much.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


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